


Dynamite!

by ImaMePanda



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Bad Decisions, Brotherly Bonding, Complete, Discipline of Young Adults, Explosions, Family Feels, Improper Use of Dynamite, Insecurity, Non-Sexual Spanking, One Shot, Protective Chris, Protective Siblings, Smartass Ezra, Sorta Tag to Serpents, Spanking, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Trust Issues, Young Peacekeepers AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 19:45:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12139752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaMePanda/pseuds/ImaMePanda
Summary: When defying Chris's orders nearly gets Ezra killed the man has had enough. Spank Fic; Filling my own prompt from Spankvent 2016-Ezra really needs to start telling Chris before lighting off dynamite in the middle of an operation. Set in Young Peacekeepers/Troublemakers 'verse, Younger JD, Ezra, Vin and Nathan.





	Dynamite!

Chris patted his hands over the dust covered and indignant body in front of him, checking for injuries, and starting with his head however the other man fought him. There was no way even the lucky son-of-a-gun that his gambler was had come out of that unscathed, and as Ezra tried to jerk away from him, Chris took a quick hold of the front of his coat and jerked him back. “Settle.”

“Mistah Larabee, Ah have already promised you no injuries have befallen me, so if you would _please_ unhand me...”, Ezra trailed off meaningfully, plaster dust still thick in his hair and wood slivers clinging to his damn bulls-eye of a jacket, and it was only because Chris, fingers now running over the front of Ezra's rib cage, wasn't so sure he was right about not being hurt, for all he'd found no breaks or lumps so far, that he didn't shake the frustrating boy until his teeth rattled.

Ignoring Buck's stage whisper to JD that he was, 'Pretty sure Ol' Chris is a lot more likely to lay hands on him than to unhand him anytime soon, hey kid?', JD's nervous, 'Chris ain't gonna beat him up, is he?' back, and Buck's snort at that, Chris grit his teeth and ground out, “Dammit, Ezra-A house just nearly came down on you. A house I told you _not_ to blow!” He wouldn't lay hands on the younger man, at least not until Vin was back from the other side of the bluff this abandoned homestead hid behind with Nathan and the healer had given Standish a proper check and a clean bill of health.

Then he might just smack him silly. See him come up with one of his smart-ass comments with his brain rattling around in his head.

He should have known when the gambler had spent nearly two full days trying to convince him to use his 'plan', then dropped it without another word the day before, that _something_ was going to happen. Hell, he had been on guard, suspicious, but he hadn't realized the boy had a damn death wish!

“Nevertheless, Ah am fine, our miscreant is caught, and a ramshackle building that has been nothing but a source of shelter for the bad element-excepting your fine company, of course-and a dangerous enticement to the local children is gone. It seems to me that, all in all, this is a very positive outcome.”

“Positive-you were on the porch when the damn explosions started! It threw you forward a good ten feet!”

“Yet, Ah am perfectly fine, Chris!” The two faced off, Chris's eyes narrowing in concentration as he examined Ezra's eyes carefully for the signs of concussion Nathan had taught them all to look for. The pupils were the size they should be, and they were even. Bennet had led them through the Galvan homestead as they chased him, and thrown off a potshot into the families barn as he raced by it. All he had hit was the milk cow, but the cheese Mrs. Galvan sold to the restaurant and grocery store in town was about all the income the widow and her girls had. The healer hadn't been about to let the animal suffer under untrained hands when he could help, anyway, and at the time, with more than enough of them to take on one already bleeding and tiring bandit, Chris had been fine with it. Now, he wanted Nathan here, damn that cow.

“You aren't dizzy? Or feeling sick?”

“Ah believe Ah have already answered that query.” Ezra looked more petulant and worn out than he did rebellious and so Chris made himself suck in a deep breath, knowing that even _if_ he were perfectly fine, it had to have scared the hell out of the wily conman. The teenager wouldn't admit it without a gun to his head, but it had to have, all the same.

It had scared the hell out of Chris.

It also gave him a strong desire to lay hands on Ezra, like Buck had said, though not the way JD had suspected. He'd blown the place just because Chris had told him not to, testing his limits, and Chris had every intention of reminding him just where those limits were, and who the leader was.

“You can answer it again.”

With a put-upon sounding sigh, Ezra murmured, “No, Ah am not feeling dizzy, and no Ah am not feeling nauseous.”

“Move your arms about.”

“Begging your pardon?” Feeling his jaw tighten at the incredulous look Ezra shot at him, Chris explained, his tone short.

“You say you aren't injured-prove it.”

“You have already examined mah personage most thoroughly.” If Ezra hadn't been moving first his left, then his right arm, bending them at the shoulder and the elbow, Chris might have taken exception to the clear message of 'this is overkill' in his tone, but as it was he just nodded and pointed down to Ezra's legs.

“Those too.”

Huffing a little, Ezra did just that, then turned slowly in a circle, arms held out, saying, tone holding an unhealthy dose of sarcasm, “Would you like to check mah eyeteeth as well?”

Growling, Chris snapped back, “Nope, I can see that smart mouth is working just fine.”

“So, now are you satisfied at mah continued good health?” Chris considered for a moment, nodded sharply, and before Ezra could relax he'd grabbed him by the scruff of his neck with one hand and the back of his belt with the other and began hauling him along to a spot about twenty feet away, over to where a wide pillar of weathered sandstone would block them from view. Ezra was spluttering and demanding to know what he was doing, but Chris noticed not fighting near as hard as he could have to get loose, and he didn't think it was all because his scare had worn him out. No, though the gambler would likely never admit to it, he was feeling guilty, and probably foolish for mistiming his blast.

Well, what Chris was planning would take care of that little-who was he kidding, huge-rebellious streak for awhile and likely that guilt too. The foolishness though, Chris hoped he hung on to the sting of that for a long time, thought that might keep him in line even longer than fear, or the tanning Chris was going to give him whether he liked it or not.

Buck called after him, voice a little wary, “What are you doing, stud?”

“A little privacy, Buck,” Chris called over his shoulder, not answering his question. It was no ones business but his and Ezra's. If Buck figured it out, and Chris imagined he would, that was one thing, but Chris wasn't about to tell him

“Don't kill 'im, pard! C'mon, kid, you heard the man.” Buck still sounded worried, but Chris could hear the sounds of him shepherding the younger teenager away and was grateful for it. This wasn't about humiliating Ezra, and if the young man thought it was it wouldn't end well. He knew Josiah had punished him before, but only in the confines of the church.

“Mistah Larabee, whatevah sort of business you feel necessary to conduct behind this rock, out of sight of our comrades, Ah assure you Ah want no part of it!”

“That's kind of the point, Ezra.” They were out of sight now, and the smaller, flat rock that Chris had had to guide Pony around on their earlier approach was exactly where he'd remembered it being. Hauling Standish in its direction, Chris quickened his movements, it only when he propped a leg up on the rock, pushing Ezra over so fast that he had him in place before he could do anything about it, that the boy really began to fight him, obviously getting an idea of what he was going to do. He twisted and turned so that the sand was kicked up in a flurry around his feet, trying to use his arms to push up off the rock as he bucked his body, but he was too high up to get the proper leverage with his arms and too far off the ground to push off with his feet. Chris just wrapped an arm tightly around his back and kept the leg he was supporting them on out of kicking range. It was a good thing too, as realizing he couldn't get away, Ezra was now trying to connect with his shin. When that didn't work he tried to elbow him, Chris shifting him over enough he had no chance of connecting with anything but air.

The gunslinger said nothing, fully prepared to let the boy tire himself out with his flailing and carrying on, but when Ezra began unleashing a truly vicious stream of curses, the sort that whatever questionable values Maude Standish had taught her son he knew the woman wouldn't approve of, he raised his hand and brought it down hard, right above the young man's thigh. When all that did was make the next insult clearly and pointedly directed at his own mother, he brought it down again on the same spot, in a slap that stung his hand and had Ezra jerking forward over his thigh. “Watch your damn mouth.”

“This is ludicrous! Am not a small child to be smacked and scolded when Ah step out of line and you are _not_ mah fathah!”

“No, you're a _nearly_ , but _not yet,_ grown man who almost got himself killed because he can't listen when someone says _no!_ ” He punctuated the end of his sentence with two hard smacks to the other cheek, feeling a bit of satisfaction when Ezra's next breath came out in a hiss. “Like it or not I'm the leader. I call the shots.” Ezra shifted with the quick, solid, swats to the center of each cheek, silent now, Chris figured deciding not to give him the satisfaction of knowing it hurt, “You don't like the plan you can tell me.” Another swat to the middle of each cheek, then one square across the center of his ass for good measure, “But you do _not_ , when I tell you _no_ ,” a smack to first one untouched thigh and then the other, Ezra kicking out a foot that couldn't quite get solid purchase on the ground, “we're doing it my way, just go off and do whatever the hell you want!” Chris began spanking in earnest then, his hand falling back and forth like he was keeping a beat. Ezra did his best to stay stoic at first, Chris able to feel the tightness in his body, muscles still coiled for a fight, but small gasps were leaving him before too long. He brought his hand down to the top of Ezra's thighs and the thin stretch of skin where they met his backside, and gave each side an ample amount of attention, ignoring the guilt that tugged at him when the next gasp that left the conman sounded decidedly wet. He'd been planning to use his belt originally, but taking the time to pull it off would give Ezra too much chance to get away, and anyway his hand seemed to be having the desired effect.

When he'd seen Ezra run out on that porch, when he wasn't even supposed to be inside the damn house, when Chris had told him they were going to lure the man that was only known as Bull Bennet out, _not_ go in after him, _not_ smoke him out, sure as hell were _not_ going to blow it up and risk bringing part of the bluff it sat snug against down, Chris had been livid. He'd been ready to wring Standish's neck just as soon as he was clear. Remembering, Chris's hand sped up, raining swats down in no pattern now, smacking in one spot until Ezra twisted away and then moving to another.

Then Ezra had tripped, sprawled across the doorway, with an angry Bennet behind him and the house about to blow, and his throat had been in his mouth, body both urging him towards the impending explosion, to get his seventh man and get him the hell away, and urging him away, his self preservation telling him it was no good, it would be too late.

Chris had already had to search through one hollow, destroyed, shell of a house, for his family, knowing all the while there was no hope. It was not something he ever wanted to have to do again. Jaw tightening, the next few whacks were even harder, Ezra making a noise somewhere between a hiss and a howl.

But Ezra had gotten up and on his feet in those few seconds in between when he tripped and when the dynamite went off, getting himself far enough forward that the explosion threw him out and away, so the rotting, but heavy, porch beams didn't crush him. He'd even, with the unbelievable luck the teenager seemed to have, managed to land in a build up of sand that must have been there since the last windstorm, rather than the baked with the heat of the desert clay and earth that he would have smashed into if he'd fallen anywhere else. Ezra was definitely lucky, and determined too, but Chris knew that luck could run out and determination could only take a man so far.

Bennet, only a few steps behind him, hadn't been so blessed, his head crushed in a way that had turned JD, running forward before Buck could stop him, green when he saw it. Good riddance to that slimy, child murdering, bastard, but losing one of his own in exchange for taking him down was not a trade Chris was ever prepared to make. Not like that.

“You only rejected the idea because it was me who presented it to you! Because you still don't trust me!” Chris stopped, hand mid-air, at the strangled shout, as incredulity filled him, an angry sort of disbelief, biting back a sharp retort that he might trust him more if he followed orders. Was that really what this idiot boy thought? Had nearly gotten himself killed, all because instead of thinking Chris might have a _good_ reason for saying no, he'd decided it had been done out of hand, just because it was Ezra's idea?

And even now, after things had gone wrong, which should have made it obvious he was right, and it had been too dangerous, Ezra still thought that? That stubborn, goddamned, conman...he thought _Chris_ was someone who made up their mind regardless of the facts? He needed to look in the mirror.

He ignored the voice that said it was his own fault, that he hadn't handled things right after the incident with Stutz and that money, because true or not, now wasn't the time to deal with that.

“I said _no_ because it was gonna get you killed. I trust you fine Ezra, except when it comes to keeping _yourself_ safe.” And sometimes around money, but it wasn't like it was very often that an unclaimed 10,000 dollars showed up in town.

Or that nearly everyone of his friends would express doubt in his ability to be trusted with it. Chris hadn't expected, when he'd seen the temptation in Ezra's eyes when he'd offered to guard the money, that his saying no would lead to that. Hell, he would have said no anyway, he couldn't imagine an eighteen year old in the whole country he'd trust with that much money, and he sure as hell wasn't gonna have him guarding it when there was an assassin involved. He'd had second thoughts on the amount of danger the boys were put in on normal jobs more than once, something like that...he hadn't wanted Ezra anywhere near it. Josiah had been more than evasive when he asked him what the hell had happened, why Ezra had had it, clearly ashamed, and keeping a surprisingly clingy Ezra close to him, but also not willing to talk. Busy dealing with the aftermath Chris hadn't pushed, but now he wished he had.

First silence and then an angry shake of his head was the only answer the southerner gave him, but before Chris could decide whether to be annoyed by that or not, he heard a tiny splash onto the sandstone, and, with a look down, cursed as he realized Ezra had been crying, or at least tearing up enough that it was dripping down, probably since before he'd said anything. Chris doubted it was from the pain either, didn't think the gambler would break down just from that, not so soon anyway. He moved the hand he'd been spanking him with just a few moments ago to rub awkwardly at his back, Ezra freezing like he didn't know what was going on. Chris supposed the sort of relatives Maude had left him with the most often hadn't been the sort to comfort him after he'd been punished, and it was clear Maude herself hadn't been hands on with the boy in anyway. Still, he couldn't imagine either Josiah or the Judge not doing so, so maybe it was Chris he couldn't imagine comforting him. Hell.

After another few seconds Chris hauled him up, but refused to let go when Ezra tried to break away from him. “Wait a second-I _said_ wait a second.” The gambler's body language was a strange mixture of submission and defiance, but Chris knew if he didn't say what he had to say now all of that would disappear, Ezra's shields coming back up and the boy reverting back to that flippant, devil-may-care attitude that drove Chris crazy. “You can be mad at me for this all you want Ezra, hell, you can hate me. But you remember this-I meant what I said. I didn't say no because I don't trust you. I trust you. I said no because we ain't losing you like that. Same reason I did what I just did.” He stared hard into Ezra's eyes, refusing to look away until he thought he saw some kind of understanding in them. Voice a little softer, but just as serious, he said again, “I mean it.” Finally a jerky nod, and when Ezra tried to pull away from him this time he let him. Chris fully expected him to be sore at him for awhile-at least as long as his ass was sore, the gunslinger thought, not letting the smirk that wanted to spread across his face at that show. That was fine, long as he'd got the message. He turned away, giving Ezra a moment to get the handkerchief Chris had seen him pulling out wet from his canteen and scrub it across his face. When he heard the sounds of the canteen being tucked into the man's jacket, Chris turned back and said quietly, “Let's head back.”

“Yes, they will be wondering about our prolonged absence soon.” Ezra's voice was quiet and a bit wary, but not as resentful as Chris had worried it might be-though there was definitely some there-and with a jerk of his head Chris went back around the formation, fully expecting Ezra to follow. As the crunch of fine leather boots over dry sand came from behind him, Chris took a deep breath and let it out. He was still on guard, they were far from town, and while everything they knew said Bennet worked alone, scum attracted scum. At the same time Chris felt like the worst he'd have to deal with today was done. “Chris?” He slowed a bit, tilting his head to show he was listening, knowing that when Ezra called him by his first name it was important. Or the kid wanted something. “Perhaps you can share your belief in mah clean bill of health with Mistah Jackson? Otherwise, he may...”, when the usually verbose youth trailed off, color rising in his cheeks, Chris realized what he was getting at. He wasn't too sure the others wouldn't figure it out anyway, but he nodded.

 “Do my best.” Might not work, ordinarily Nathan was calm and the least likely of the seven to give him any trouble. Let him think that any of them was hurt and hiding it, and he became a force to be reckoned with, perfectly prepared to run roughshod over all of them, including Chris.

 “That is the most any of us can ask.”

 *.*.*.*.*

Ezra eased himself up and into his saddle, not letting out a hiss as he lowered himself down onto the unforgiving leather, or allowing his face to contort, though he did allow himself a small moment of self pity. Bad enough he'd be sore and stiff where he'd been thrown, now he was sore and stiff in an area he could feel with nearly every movement, and certainly every time he sat. “Dammit, Ezra, ya told me you weren't hurt!”, hit his ears, then quieter, but just as indignant, “Can't believe any of ya, even Chris now.”

Looking over into Nathan Jackson's dark face, creased with both concern and anger, as he sat atop his own mount, Ezra did his best to smile reassuringly, saying calmly, “A bit of soreness, Mistah Jackson, not much worse than what a few days in the saddle would cause, that is all.” It would have appeased any of the other Seven, even if they hadn't quite believed him, the most they would have done was keep an eye on him-something Ezra was still getting used to in and of itself-but Nathan made a disbelieving noise and drew his patient horse up close to Chaucer, who attempted to reward this proximity by taking a bite out of the other gelding's ear, Ezra pulling his head away from poor Brevet and clicking his tongue in warning.

 “I'm not blind Ezra-which hip did you hurt? Or is it both?” Nathan's eyes moved from where they had been paying far more attention to how Ezra was maintaining his seat than he cared for at the moment to glue themselves to his face, serious.

“Uh, Nate,”, not sure whether to be horrified or grateful, or just mortified that he'd deduced what had happened in the first place, as Buck, coming up on Nathan's other side, leaned over to whisper in his ear, Ezra turned his horse enough to get clear of the others and, pressing his heals lightly into Chaucer's side, set off after Mr. Larabee, Vin, and JD, who were a few hundred feet ahead. From the looks of it JD was yammering Chris and Vin's ears off while the gunslinger and tracker stayed silent and let him, but even if the lad was recounting the entire plot of some dime novel with a similarly named villain as the ne'er-do-well they'd dealt with or some such, at least his posterior would not be the topic of conversation. It didn't take long for Ezra to catch up to them, hanging a bit behind so JD wouldn't try and pepper him with questions about what being 'blown-up' was like, and more importantly so he wouldn't have to decide how to act around Chris.

He'd expected to be angry, furious, at Mr. Larabee and a part of him was-had the assault on his dignity really been necessary? Ezra had accepted that Mr. Sanchez had the right to discipline him, grudgingly, but he had. Mr. Larabee was not Josiah. If the man had actually let him step far enough away to get the range, his fist to the other man's chin had been his plan when he was first allowed to stand. But, Ezra had realized, it sucking much of the fight out of him, that whatever effect on his dignity the unexpected chastisement had had, it had not been that effect which Mr. Larabee had been seeking. A part of Ezra still thought that if the others had gone along with his plan, if he'd been able to set it up properly and with their support, that it would have been most effective. Without their assistance...truthfully, he'd probably been lucky things had gone as well as they had.

The man had said he trusted him. Well, that he trusted him with everything but his own well-being. Ezra had spent most of his life making a living off of reading people, and for the life of him he had not heard a lie in his voice, or seen it in his eyes. Yet, it hadn't been more than a month ago that Mr. Larabee made the opposite more than clear.

Truthfully, Ezra respected the man in black more than almost anyone he'd met, possibly more than Josiah. Though not Uncle Orin. It had hurt when he'd appraised him with his eyes and found him wanting. Though he had been right. Mr. Sanchez had given him a chance to prove himself, to prove he was trustworthy, and Ezra had failed spectacularly. After, the preacher had said it was the other way around, that it had been he who faltered in his duty to Ezra, but Ezra had worried that his desire to believe that was overpowering his ability to discern the reality of the situation.

Before Ezra had anymore time to contemplate things he became aware that both Mr. Wilmington and Mr. Jackson had ridden up next to him. Nathan, looking furtive, not an expression he would usually have associated with the healer, leaned slightly over in his saddle and said quietly, “I got some cream that's good for muscle soreness, I'll give you some if you come up to the clinic when we get back.” Surprised, as he knew the man hadn't been pleased with his actions when they'd been described to him, not at all, and he'd rather thought Nathan would have been of the opinion he deserved what he'd got, it took Ezra a moment to respond.

“Thank you, Mistah Jackson...Ah did land rathah forcibly.”

Nathan rolled his eyes at that, and said, “Uh-huh. Landed.” Was he _smirking?_ It was small, and the man ducked his head to hide it, but yes, he definitely was. Oh Lord, he was never going to live this down, was he?

Buck broke in then, the big man loudly and easily taking over the conversation, “Hey now, did I ever tell you two about the time me and Chris were in this little town in Iowa, Roseburg, I think was the name. Anyway, this was a couple years after we met and had been riding together on and off, Chris was a little older than Vin up there, I think, 22 or 23, so I woulda been around your age, Ezra-18, ain't ya? For another couple of months now anyway, we'll have to make a night of it.” Buck didn't wait for an answer, assuming that he'd got the date right and Ezra was surprised at the surge of pleasure he felt at the idea that Buck or the others would actually want to celebrate his birthday, something he hadn't done since he was a small child, and even then rarely. He hadn't realized any of them knew when it was.

It was ridiculous, to feel such emotion at what was likely a throw away comment.

“Like I was saying, we was in Roseburg, and met ourselves two real lovely little ladies,”, Ezra's smile widened as Nathan's muttered, 'oh jeez, one of _those_ stories', hit his ear, “and was having ourselves a fine time, when some of the low-down, dirtiest-”

“Buck tried to be a hero, to a lady who didn't need or want a hero, and wound up burning down a brothel,” Chris interjected, voice deadpan as he called over his shoulder, Wilmington drawing himself up righteously, at the shortening of the tale or Larabee stealing his thunder, Ezra wasn't sure, and declaring loudly,

“I've been telling you for near on eighteen years now, it wasn't me that knocked over those candles! It was that damned cowboy that was chasing after Miss Lucy.” He nodded decisively after his statement, as though that was the final say on the matter.

“Buck, I saw your big ass knock them into the curtains. Even if I hadn't, Miss Lucy 'thanking' you with a right cross mighta given me a good idea.” Buck huffed indignantly as nearly everyone laughed, JD about falling out of his seat.

“Three words for ya Larabee-The goat incident.” Chris turned far enough in his saddle to glare right at Buck, making a gesture at him Ezra knew to be extremely obscene, before turning back around and ignoring him pointedly.

His interest piqued, he turned to Mr. Wilmington and said quietly, not wanting to draw Mr. Larabee's attention, “What exactly is the, no doubt enthralling, tale about this 'goat incident'?” Mr. Jackson next to him was also showing a quite natural curiosity for such an intriguing subject, looking at Buck with a small, amused, smile on his lips. Buck grinned, went to open his mouth, then with another glance up at Chris's back, slowly shook his head.

“Think that might be a conversation for another time, Hoss. Anyway, what I was getting at,” Buck lowered his voice to conspiratorial levels and leaned over in his saddle, “Ol' Chris was none to happy with me-ya ain't the only one been dragged away by him for a 'discussion'.” He winked at Ezra, then straightened up, calling loud enough for everyone to hear, “So fellas, who's coming to the saloon tonight-Ez's buying.”

Ezra's mouth dropped open indignantly, and Buck threw back his head and laughed. “Mistah Wilmington, Ah do _not_ recall evah agreeing to such a proposal.”

“Hell Pard, after the scare you gave us, thinking you owe us at least a few rounds.” Before Ezra could counter, that he might, in his generosity, feel obliged to buy _a_ round, Buck continued, smile growing a bit wicked, “Thought you might want to get on the preacher's good side before he hears the story.”

“Ah was undah the impression that our absent companion was not getting back from Ridge City until the day aftah tomorrow?”, Ezra asked, fighting the incredibly undignified urge to groan. A lecture from Mr. Sanchez was the last thing he wanted to endure right now, but he had no doubt that was what would ensue when the man was informed. At the very least.

“Nah,” said Nathan, shaking his head, his smile tinged with a hint of second-hand ruefulness, “The trial didn't take as long as expected. He got back middle of the morning-when _somebody_ was still asleep-tired enough he went right to bed. But he'll probably be up by the time we're back in town.”

“I'll talk to Josiah.” Head going up, and fighting a blush, as he'd thought their lowered voices would prevent those in front from overhearing, Ezra was, for once, not sure what to say, to Chris's statement.

“Dammit Chris, quit using your bat ears to hear everything in a ten mile radius, you're always-”

“Shut-up, Buck.”

“I'm telling ya, your ears, Vin's eyes, and you'd be something out of a fairy story.”

This time the, “Shut up, Buck.”, came in unison from both Chris and Vin, the rest of the group breaking out in chuckles.

“You know, if it was up to you all, I'd probably think 'shut-up, Buck', was my name.”

Feeling a surprising dash of good humor, Ezra confided, “If that is so, Ah believe mah moniker would be along the lines of, 'Dammit, Ezra'.”

Buck laughed again, and slapped him on the back a bit harder than his sore muscles appreciated, but he grinned all the same, and it widened when Nathan said, grousing just a bit, “Suppose that makes me, 'I'm fine, Nathan'.”

Not wanting be left out, JD piped up, “Then I'd be, 'Hey, kid!',” the boy frowned to himself, then said, still frowning, “Except that doesn't even have my name in it...”


End file.
